


Scapegoat

by vanillchii



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Graphic Description, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Shuichi can't cope, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25617715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillchii/pseuds/vanillchii
Summary: The sole redeeming thing Kokichi had done was to finally die.But even that was a lie.-Set after the 5th trial.
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	1. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the tags for possible triggers, dear reader. They will be updated as I go.
> 
> This story explores the possibility of the v3 cast going mad (as one would in a killing game).  
> Shuichi crumbles under the pressure instead of rising up. You're not going to find comfort here or fluffy saiouma. There's feelings between them but the way they're dealt with is unhealthy. People can't be forgiven so easily.

He’s had enough.

That’s the only words running around and around in his mind in a continuous loop.

It’s a futile attempt of distraction, a mere fragile wall he’s put up in his mind to hold back the torrent of emotions. A wave of anger, sadness and of all things, despair, tumbling together. Soon it would come crashing down and wash away his brittle wall.

He focuses on each word, each syllable, each letter, whatever baits his attention. If he had to he would envision the curve of every stroke of every letter to oversee what had been seen. If he must he will vocalise every tone to overhear what had been heard.

He’s mumbling the words like a silent prayer, clenching his fingers into a taut fist to stretch them out again. They’re tense just like the rest of his body. The cold isn’t what’s causing the shivering, it’s the storm brewing within. Sizzling deep in his core.

Before his distracted mind registers it, he finds himself in front of his room’s door. The numerous days of repetition made it easy for him to locate it, especially on a path he’s found himself on many times before.

Shuichi fumbles desperately with the lock. The key almost slips out of his jittery fingers- they do. After hastily picking it up he manages to open the door and enter. The door is flung shut immediately, echoing in the vacant dormitory.

There should be silence, yet Shuichi finds none of it.

The flood was seeping through the cracks. He can barely hold it in anymore as all support is crumbling under the suffocating weight.

He doesn’t want to bear it. Much less, accept it.  
Shuichi couldn’t do this much longer.

Not even a shred of light could be found. His room was shrouded by all-consuming darkness.

Shuichi staggers into his bathroom and steadies himself over the sink. He lets water flow onto his hands to splash his heated face. The coolness does nothing to soothe him.

In the mirror, he notes his dishevelled appearance- strands of greased hair sticking out- but that’s not what captures his sight at first.

Among the familiarity of the room, Shuichi identifies an abnormality. There’s a lump sat on the shower’s tiles. It’s challenging to make out what it could perchance be, but Shuichi recognizes it anyway.

It’s him.  
Shuichi’s stomach plummeted, much like going down the stairs and missing a step.

There are purple locks framing his pallid face on an equally fragile frame. His head is dipped low, casting deeper shadows. There’s a hollow gleam in his bleary eyes directed at nothing in particular.

The bed’s duvet is draped over him like an armour of feathery protection. Even though the thick fabric, Shuichi can spot blood seeping through The same pinkish colour he wished to not see.

It’s him. It’s him. It’s him.

It’s Kokichi.

…

…

…How?

How!?

Shuichi’s mind comes to a staggering halt. Shock washes through him like an icy shower.

All that should be left of said person is a flattened corpse underneath heavy steel. Shuichi had seen the revolting blood splatter, all his careful calculations, speculations had steered him to the conclusion that it must’ve been him. Evidence had proven that the only possible victim could’ve been him.

There’s no way.

For a minute, he contemplates on leaving and shutting the door as if nothing had happened. This was wrong.

It couldn’t be real.  
The detective hastily steps further towards the being until he’s standing directly in front of him, centred in his field of vision. Crouching down he encounters dull violet eyes staring past him, unblinking. Any living being would have noticed him by now but there’s no reaction, no response, no sign whatsoever. There was nothing to make Shuichi believe he isn’t a figment of his crazed imagination.

Then he blinks. Kokichi’s eyes flutter shut slowly, alerting Shuichi that he is in fact not dead, still not responsive, however.

When Shuichi looks closely enough he discovers the boy quivering. Every strand of hair jittered ever so slightly. When he listens closely enough he hears tiny irregular breaths of air.

He looks frail like this, sweetly tucked in and cowering in the tiny body he hosted. Alive.  
“You should be dead” Shuichi somehow regains his voice, although weak. His mind staggers behind reality.

Silence.

His pulse speeds. He can feel his heartbeat drumming against his ribcage, increasing in an erratic tempo. Everything is distant but overwhelmingly near. 

“Say something.”

Kokichi’s blank gaze remains lifeless. Shuichi’s on his last nerve.

“Say something dammit!”

Shuichi snaps. Unadulterated rage blossoms in his chest. It spreads like wildfire until the very tips of his fingers are tingling with anger. There’s not an ounce of relief to see the undead boy again.  
How was he here, alive and breathing? The impossible outcome has occured.

Shuichi recalls Kaito’s statement clearly in his head. How he had followed this maniac’s suicidal plan which led to nothing else but the loss of another dear friend.

Kaito. If only it were him sat in the dark. There's an undesirable face mirroring his own.

Kaito, undoubtedly the sole person Shuichi could’ve trusted with his whole heart. The same astronaut that had motivated him to move on and fight.

Kokichi had failed, and he had torn Kaito down with him. He had played a losing game at the cost of another life.

Kaito was dead, and the person across him was at fault.

It was him, it had always been him. Amidst the chaos he's forged everyone's deepest misery.

Maki lost her first love. Gonta was made a killer, later executed. Miu died for absolutely nothing. Not to forget any other inconvenience he had initiated during any other event. Such as messing with the investigation, confusing participants during the trials, threatening murder and so on.

His sins had been piling up during the killing game and unlike with anyone else; he never paid for it. All this time he had been sitting at the summit, laughing down at them.

The sole redeeming thing Kokichi had done was to finally die.

“But even that was a lie wasn’t it.” Shuichi let out a crackling laugh. “I bet you’re just itching to say that, aren’t you?”

A lie he told and Shuichi believed.

“So say it!” Shuichi grinds his teeth against each other. There’s a burning inferno in him that couldn’t be stilled. “Say it!”

Nothing.

Kokichi selfishly ignores his words. He doesn’t even look at the detective.

Selfish was all he was.

“Kaito’s dead.” the sentence feels like poison on his tongue “Is that what you wanted?”

…

There wasn’t even any point in waiting for some sort of response. Shuichi was getting none.

“He trusted you to make this work. Now he’s dead.”  
“It’s just like with Gonta, huh? Your wretched little game of establishing trust to tear it to shreds. Everyone that trusted you ended up dead.”

Shuichi can’t stop himself at this point. All these bottled up emotions are being let out with every word he spits out. There’s irrational hurt in his anger.

“You should be dead!”

Distantly, he knows he’s being irrational, a far cry from his usual self but he can’t help it.

He thinks of all the people that had fallen victim to this game, every poignant moment he’s been forced to go through in the past couple of days. From the very start of it, Shuichi had been dragged through hell. At the earliest part, he’d seen Kaede reduced to absolute misery, having her beloved talent displayed in the opposite of her intentions. Instead of sparking joy, the simplest of melodies had caused anguish. She was too good for this world. Shuichi had promised herself that her sacrifice would not go to waste but undisputedly, it had become nothing but that. And days later he still clung to the promise he had made, a promise he knew he had yet to fulfil despite the impossible circumstances.

His imagination was lively enough to conjure Kirumi’s screams as she fought to the inevitable end. Her stubbornness to complete her duties even if it meant sacrificing every one of them. How she had clawed her way to the top only to topple back down.

Gonta came to mind. His wracking sobs when realisation dawned onto him. How he had become a murderer without possessing any memory of it.

Two altruistic acts, for their country, for their friends, acts that resulted in nothingness. Absolutely nothing.

Gonta’s could’ve been avoided. He could’ve lived to see another day.

If it weren’t for him. Kokichi Ouma.

Sure, he might not have fired the start but when things had settled down, he took over control and led them into chaos.

If it weren’t for him, Kaito, Miu, Gonta would still be standing here.

How did his life value more than those of Gonta, Kaito- Hell, even Miu’s?

“I hate you”

Maybe it’s what he wanted to hear, but Shuichi uttered it regardless.

Shuichi wishes it’d hurt. He really does. He’s searching for the impossible in his eyes.

There’s nothing but a void of pitch-black darkness behind them.

The ghost of what Kokichi was does not respond.

The door slams shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a bad place right now and I use this fic to vent.  
> My writing won't be correct, much less clear and I like it like that.
> 
> This will progressively get worse before it can't anymore.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi isn’t sure when something in him had shattered.
> 
> Was it when Kaede died or when Kaito did?
> 
> Maybe there had always been this dark turmoil in him growing with time. It had mauled its ugly way to the forefront of his mind until it was all there was.
> 
> Shuichi wishes he could smother the feeling of utter helplessness, squash it under the weight of undying determination.

Morning does not come easier than on other days. The suffocating disappointment crashes onto his body, the moments his eyes open.

He makes out the silhouettes of the distinct, modern furniture littered across his room. The killing game, he reminds himself. Of course.

A groan pushes past his lips as he rolls over, smothering his face in his fluffed pillow. His body ached and his mind was mush.

The golden sun seemed out of place in this grey world.

A world without Kaito.

Huh.

Acceptance does not come easy, much less facing the reality of that thought.

Shuichi dozes off blissfully. Head in the clouds, there’s a feeling of weightlessness, comparably to floating upon mild water. Its waves licked at his skin, a gentle touch. Distantly, the daily announcement blares but he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t want to know.

Hours pass like this, drifting in and out of sleep for who knows how long.

It’s when dusk falls that he wakes. His bladder was screaming from abuse and every movement caused immense discomfort. If it weren’t for bodily functions, he might’ve allowed himself to waste away. Shuichi can’t figure if it’s a curse or a blessing in disguise.

He topples off the bed and shakily gets to his feet. With leaden legs, he reaches the bathroom to relieve himself.

It’s when he’s staring off into the mirror when he sees it.

Again?

Shuichi’s eyes widen, shrieking as he’s caught off guard once again. Stumbling back, he takes a good look at what lied in front of him.

There’s a body sprawled out in his shower. Motionless.

Just like…

Yesterday?

There are vague images of last night, and he can’t decide if it had all been a dream.

On the cold tiles of his bathroom lies no one else but the ultimate supreme leader itself, Kokichi Ouma.

This time, however, he’s rolled onto his side. His face was smushed against the floor, peaking out of the roll of his bedsheets. With shut eyes, he seemed to be sleeping, or unconscious, Shuichi did not know. He’s sickly pale but that might be normal.

He’s wounded, he reminds himself. The blood splatters prove that.

Maybe he’s dead?

To further inspect the scene, he approaches the boy and kneels beside him. He tentatively feels for his neck, trying to sense a pulse. Shuichi isn’t sure whether to feel relieved or to be disappointed when he feels a weak thrumming against his fingertips.

So, Kokichi was alive.

Huh.

Shuichi shakes off any impending frustration on his discovery as he proceeds to unwrap the white sheets. Underneath he finds Kokichi cloaked in Kaito’s coat without his usual attire underneath. The upper arm above his body had a gaping injury, and a similar one could be uncovered on his back. They weren’t bleeding anymore but they didn’t look taken care of either.

Logically, Shuichi would assume that they must’ve been from the crossbow bolts but if that were true, wouldn’t he be dead? The poison should’ve killed him if the press hadn’t achieved that already. It didn’t add up.

Shuichi grasps the purple material of Kaito’s jacket. Kaito’s. The material runs through his fingers as his thoughts shift to his friend. It feels coarse against his skin, not what he was expecting.

He wants to get mad, lash out to escape the sinking pit in his stomach. Runaway and not look back. Kokichi meant confronting another harsh truth.

His eyes wander back to the seemingly lifeless form.

What was he supposed to do?

As a detective, Shuichi longed for the truth so he might as well give into his curious nature and figure how this mess could’ve happened. Questioning Kokichi would be the best course of action. That and he couldn’t walk away and dismiss an injured human; he wasn’t like that.

With that in mind, he takes Kokichi in his arms, discarding his sheets in the process. It was disturbing how oddly light the boy was but it shouldn’t be surprising based on not only his height but also his neglected figure. Every rib seemed to poke through thin skin.

Kaito’s coat is laid out onto his bed before he gently drops Kokichi on it. Not because he cared but due to his own benefit. He wasn’t about to wake him up any time soon. Simply because he did not know what to say to him, much less what to do. Who knows what kind of shit he would pull if he was awake.

No, Shuichi would have to plan this carefully. It would be best if he let him wake on his own.

Even if waiting felt like an eternity, curiosity nibbling away at this sanity, he would prefer that over whatever Kokichi had to say. What could he possibly say? How he had fooled them all, how his sick plan spurred on interesting events happening? How he wished he had seen Kaito’s execution? How he won the game?

Shuichi did not know. There were so many possible scenarios he could come up with but none of them seemed satisfying. It’s about two hours later when he finally gets sick of the mimicked, taunting voice in his head and his ass hurting from sitting for so long in his chair. His stomach growled with hunger, and his throat ached for some water.

Having enough of it, Shuichi gets up to leave. He carefully locks the door after him and silently prays that Kokichi wouldn’t wake and lockpick his door before he’s back. The trip to the warehouse and his room shouldn’t take too long anyway. He’d collect a few bottles of water, a few snacks and be back before he knew it.

Passing the rooms of the large dormitory felt almost eerie. What had been bustling with rowdy students was now desolate. The growing vacancy serves as a constant reminder of everyone they had lost. Only the pixelated signs proved the existence of their friends.

Kaito’s joined the bunch. He stands before his door as if the astronaut was about to burst out of it, pat his back and go on about how great of s sidekick he was. The same determined voice that would tell him there was nothing to worry about.

After the first trial, the astronaut was the one who picked up his broken self and kept him together. He might have lost it without his support. Kaito provided him with the confidence he was missing. A shield protecting his fragile core.

But no more. The door could not be opened if the dead wasn’t even present.

The walk to the warehouse is equally as uneventful. No familiar faces stand in his way and he does not hear the usual noisy construction work of the monokubs. Perhaps they finished at last.

He walks into the overfilled storage room, shivering as he walks past the same iron balls that were used in the first case. From the shelves, he picks up a couple of water bottles, downing one immediately to still the overpowering thirst. He shoves a bunch of snacks under his arms, intending to bring them back before consuming them. There wasn’t enough time to waste.

Before leaving he halts where the medical supplies are kept. The holes on Kokichi’s body had not been treated yet and there was no telling how badly they exactly were, considering they might’ve been infused with poison. Shuichi was a detective, not a doctor, he didn’t exactly know what he was supposed to do and if he wanted to do it. For all he cared he’d let him rot away to feel even a minuscule of the pain he had inflicted on them.

However, Shuichi wasn’t like that, or at least his own morals prevented him from walking away.

What did that even matter in this twisted game?

Shuichi grabs a few supplies that seem reasonable to him, stuffing a bandage roll into one of his pockets, cotton pads and bandaids.

After that, he rushes back to the dormitory. It was already nighttime. The moon hung up in the sky and the misplaced stars twinkled above.

When he unlocks the door to his room again he half expects to find his bed empty. There was still a part of him that believed that the scenario he was forced into must be fake. No logical explanation could be made for Kokichi’s sudden appearance and out of all places; Shuichi’s room. Contrary to his beliefs, he’s met with the same sight he’s left the room with. Kokichi was still asleep, although he was slightly more curled up than before. He had moved, proving once more that he wasn’t dead.

Shuichi frowns, although he’s thankful he’s given more time before he has to deal with the pest. For a little while, he could eat in peace.

Settling down beside the other, Shuichi tosses all the items he’s collected onto his bed. A pack of chips becomes his primary victim as he snags it open and begins to snack. It was nowhere a proper meal but it would do for now. Later, he thinks.

It was an impossible task to deter his thoughts from recent events- not like he possessed other memories to think about. All he could do was watch the steady rise and descent of Kokichi's chest as if he was a time bomb about to go off. Maybe he was.

Eventually, Shuichi shuffles closer to the other and starts inspecting the injuries. The bolt that had struck his back had narrowly missed his spine. Shuichi would only know the aftermath of that when Kokichi wakes.

Each puncture seemed to run deep, but he couldn’t be too certain. Shuichi’s face remained passive as disgust built in the inside. They had stopped bleeding and a crust started to form around the gaping holes.

Before all else, he has to clean them, or so he assumes, to prevent an infection. Something like that. Enough crime movies and books have informed him on that. He unscrews a water bottle and he douses a cotton pad with it before compressing it against his skin. Ever so carefully, he tries not to directly disturb the wound. Seemed like a bad idea to him.

Once satisfied with his work, he proceeds to place a clean gauze on the wound before attempting to clumsily wrap a bandage around his arm. It seemed a lot easier in his head but as he fumbles with the perfect alignment, he realises the task was a bit more complex. It takes many tries until it’s secured correctly.

For the one in his back, he decides to somehow tape a gauze onto his skin. That should do. As patience slips away, he’s become less attentive with his practice. By mistake, he accidentally presses down hard against the wound. By now he was used to Kokichi’s absolute static state so when the other flinches underneath him, Shuichi freezes.

Oh no.

The detective holds his breath and lingers without moving an inch as he watches for any further activity.

His heart drops.

There are familiar purple eyes staring back at him.

For a moment he expects to be pounced on, yelled at and become prey to the vicious creature Kokichi could become.

It doesn’t happen.

There’s tension but only on Shuichi’s side.

It’s odd, too odd, and the glazed eye contact unnerves him.

“Kokichi?” He tries for a sign “Are you awake?”

For a moment he thinks he receives none but eventually Kokichi slowly nods, or at least it looks like he is. His eyes dart past him, taking in his room before inspecting the snacks and miscellaneous items on the bed.

Shuichi watches as he rolls over and stems his hands on the mattress in an attempt to push himself up. It ends in miserable failure as he crashes down, wincing due to a searing sudden pain. It must be from the wound on his arm. Putting weight on it wouldn’t be a good idea. Other than that, he must be tired if he can’t get himself to sit up alone.

Before Kokichi can try once more, Shuichi prevents him from doing so. “Don’t. You’re injured.” And so he does, slumped down in a miserable heap.

When Shuichi realises that he’s not receiving anything more from him, he proceeds with patching up the wound on his back. This time he succeeds without any inconveniences.

Not a sound leaves Kokichi as he does so, neither does he move. It’s terribly awkward, and Shuichi questions why he was doing this more than once.

“W-Why?”

Shuichi barely hears the stutter. Kokichi’s voice is grating, more than usual and hardly there.

Why what? Why was he here? Why was he alive? Why was Shuichi helping him? If he knew. Shouldn’t he be the one asking?

“Why what?”

“…”

Shuichi detests the silent treatment he’s getting. It was infuriating, more so when his overblown expectations of Kokichi’s dramatic awakening weren’t met.

“Why, though? Why why?” Shuichi prods “Why what? Why how?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue, “Why aren’t you dead?”

He’s not expecting anything really so he’s surprised when he receives a meek response.

“I don’t know” a blunt answer that doesn't sate his curiosity.

“What?”

“I don’t know”, Kokichi repeats with more bite to his tone.

“Well, you must know.” Shuichi nags further “It was your idea after all.”

“I-I really don’t know. Someone must’ve stopped me.” Kokichi wheezed as he spoke, slowing himself to let the chipped words make sense. To Shuichi it seemed like he was out of breath, barely finding the strength to say anything. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It should’ve worked.”

Shuichi frowned. What should’ve worked?

“The end of the killing game. That- That should’ve worked, it’s all I ever wanted. I didn’t want this”

“You’re a remnant, what would it matter to you?”

“I’m not- I’m not a remnant?” it was pitiful, the way his breath hitched and his eyes squeezed shut. There were tears brimming at his eyes.

Why is he still lying?

Was he?

Lies over lies and more lies, silencing all truth.

What’s the point in asking?

Kokichi was never honest and he will never be.

Shuichi huffs, irritation prickling under his skin. The detective looms over the smaller, the usual coolness nature of his couldn’t be found in his glare.

“I’m not putting up with this.” Shuichi berates, “Kaito’s dead.” Speaking it out like that was freeing as it was depressing. Kaito’s dead. Never coming back. Never. “The least you can do is tell me the truth for once.”

He’s not exactly sure what he’s hoping for but there had to be something to ease his mind. If he made sense of Kokichi, perhaps everything else would fall into place.

There had always been this insistent need in him for understanding the incomprehensible.

“Why are you not dead? Do the rules not apply to you?”

It’s like Kokichi isn’t even hearing a single thing he says, persistently disregarding him, leaving him looking like an idiot. Was he bored, falling asleep?

First lightly, next roughly, Shuichi shoved at Kokichi’s body to elicit a response. With the lack of results, Shuichi then digs his thumb into the upper arm’s wound. That seemingly does it as Kokichi jerks away from his touch, yelping out in pain.

It’s what gets him kicking, rousing Kokichi from whatever dazed state he was in.

Truthfully, it was an uncharacteristic action of the detective. He had always been so kind and peaceful, always rather on the receiving end of violence. A pacifist who solved problematics with calculations instead of brute force.

He wasn’t the only one surprised.

It’s just that Shuichi is fed up and Kokichi is weak.

Weak?

His thumb grubs deeper, earning many protests from the other as he tries to break free. Shuichi’s grip is relentless, even when Kokichi’s trembling fingers are trying to pry him off.

Seeing pain bloom in Kokichi under him was satisfying in a way he couldn't have imagined.  
Shuichi dismisses the thought before it can blossom.

It only spurs him on, advocating him to press harder and harder until the material soaks in pink and Kokichi’s voice ceases. He feels the quivering of tense muscles under his touch.

Kokichi recoils, wheezing pathetically. His desperate breaths don’t ease the lack of air, dry, rugged coughs racking his body. All Shuichi does it watch as Kokichi gradually calms down.

“It’s your fault he’s dead”

Only Kokichi could be blamed for recent events. Nobody but him.

“All my fault.” Kokichi distantly echoes.

…

The next minutes missed the vigour it once had, more so, the next hours and days. Time flickered by as Kokichi remained in this almost catatonic state, where no amount of yelling or screaming would faze him much. Whatever had happened to him clearly took its toll. Shuichi had to befriend the living corpse next to him as he slept, trusting the weakened breathing beside him.

More than once had he contemplated on throwing him out but Shuichi couldn’t bring himself to commit such cruelty, or that’s what he thought. No, Kokichi was left to waste away on the spaceman’s coat, fatigued and hungering. Shuichi wasn’t certain when he was asleep or when he listened in on his ramblings.

Assuming Shuichi wasn't wrong with what he had said in the trial, Kokichi had been under the lethal effects of Strike-9 poison. The severity of it would depend on how long it took for him to reach a cure if he even did intake one. There was no way of knowing.

Regardless, his body must be recovering from the attempt of self-destructing. Given by the information he had gathered on the poison, not only did his nerves and muscles have to heal from the stress but his brain had to rebound from the fabricated fallacy. Not to forget the other physical damage he had taken from the crossbow that might have or will become infected over time.

The boy had always been so full of life to the miserable end, an annoying pest darting around, rousing discord in everyone’s day. There had never been anything that would slow him down, not a punch to his face or suffocation by strangulation. Now, however, all power has left him, producing a shell of what he had been. What could possibly have happened?

Only when Shuichi was completely convinced that Kokichi would not leave his place, he dared to leave his room. He went on trips through the school to locate clues and evidence to support his theories. Every room was explored to the finest details to detect anything out of place. The mastermind must have left something. It all seemed to perfect. Anything humane would make a mistake, Shuichi just hasn’t found it yet.

There wasn’t much to go by but looking over each spot a million times over made him feel like he was doing at least something. By doing so, he could settle with the slight satisfaction that he had tried. If there was nothing, he could at least be sure of that.

It was more than he formerly did. Before he had gambled in the casino like an addict to win enough money to spend thousands each day on love keys to sate his perverse desires. If not that then he hung out with every classmate enough to be able to recite their life-story and expand his growing underwear collection. There was not much one could do but as a detective, he had to at least try. No amount of monomono machine gifts could keep his mind busy the way pondering over the reality of the outside did.

The mastermind would slip up eventually, Shuichi had to believe that to survive. Then with the acquired evidence, he would be able to figure out an escape, reveal the mastermind and end the killing game for good.

It seemed to be that nobody of the remaining survivors had the same motivation as him. Since the trial Shuichi hasn’t seen anyone, that being two days ago. Chances are high that all of them were sulking away in their respective rooms because unlike him they did not have a distraction.

Sometimes Shuichi even found himself in front of Maki’s door with a hand ready to knock but his knuckles never met the surface. To be a loyal friend was to get through the hardships together but even if she would let him in, what was he supposed to say?

It’s going to get better? The killing game wasn’t over, and they weren’t closer to freedom. They were all still stuck on tile one, despite their suicidal attempts to reach the next step. Their friends continued to betray one another no matter how many victims fell and how pointless it was to resort to murder. Desperation drove them insane to the point where killing was the only hope they had.

Or much better, Kokichi is alive? Knowing Maki, she would not hesitate to fulfil her initial goal if she heard that. Killing him was the closest to revenge she could get that wasn’t the mastermind or Monokuma. Even if certain death lied ahead, she would do it. It wouldn’t be difficult now anyway. In his current state, it wouldn’t take much to snatch a knife and plunge it into his chest without a fight or manipulative last words. Kokichi would lie there and take it without a word.

No, Shuichi could not confront her. Not Maki, not Kiibo, not Himiko and not Tsumugi. Kokichi was his secret to keep.

Just for how long? Would there ever be a day when Kokichi would revert to his normal self? There was the possibility that the poison’s effects had caused damage that was irreversible. Kokichi would spend the remainder of his days in a vegetated condition until someone killed him the second time over. Would killing the dead initiate a trial? If Kokichi is alive, why did Kaito have to die? Did Monokuma not know? Why didn’t he say anything?

Shuichi sighed, setting his open notebook back down on his lap. He twiddled the pen around his fingers, a newfound nervous habit, as he pondered. The page was full of mindless scribbling, unlike the organized manner he put up for others.

Maybe that was what made him less of a good detective, many grand thoughts but he could not arrange them accordingly to make them make sense. The writings were spread out from each other, lines illustrated between them to mark relations along with sketches of visual help.

Someone like Kirigiri would have undoubtedly figured it out already. She would string events together, form logical conclusions and piece them together into one great artwork just like she did in her own killing game. If not for her, they would’ve never made it out.

Shuichi strived to become someone worthy of the title “ultimate detective” like her but compared to Kirigiri he was a joke.

“What made you find out?” Shuichi almost dropped the pen when Kokichi spoke up.

He turned around to find Kokichi conscious, slightly pressed upwards by one elbow on his good arm. It would have looked almost relaxed if Shuichi hadn’t noticed him shaking from exertion. At least he had found the strength to speak up, even if his voice was far from clear.

“Find what out?”

“My plan. Why did it fail?”, Shuichi almost refrains from answering the question. It didn’t matter anyway why it had failed or not, that wasn’t what was important right now. Maybe he would gain more information by playing along, though.

“Maki’s testimony and the amount of evidence left behind. The video gave it away. The barely-there stutter indicated a change. Maybe it was also just a hunch that the obvious answer could not be the right one.”

“A hunch? Just a hunch, huh.”, Kokichi laughs brokenly “Shuichi Saihara, the great detective that solves cases based on intuition than concrete evidence.”

If a hunch could be backed up by evidence creating a plausible conclusion, it couldn’t be so incorrect. If Shuichi had gone for the first best answer they wouldn’t be alive right now. There had been so many ways one could have explained the murder. If the detective didn’t believe Kokichi would harbour a broader plan behind it all, he might’ve been led onto the wrong path.

“If you had known what my plan was, why did you not let it happen? If you did, the killing game would’ve ended, right?”

It had been too late when Shuichi had come to that realisation. It had been in the back of his mind for most of the trial, but the thought was pushed back because Shuichi couldn’t be certain of it.

Kokichi was a remnant of despair, therefore his aim couldn’t be the end of the killing game. If anything it had been to selfishly win the game at the cost of everyone else. Moreover, even if Monokuma was mistaken about the culprit, there was no telling if it would end the game. There were many scenarios Monokuma could create to prevent that. If this was a show merely to entertain, rules could be bent to please. An early final would certainly be undesired.

The most reasonable solution had been to unravel the truth and not take the chance.

“I wasn’t about to risk everyone for something you want. You’re a remnant of despair, how was I supposed to trust you?”

“Remnant of despair?” Kokichi tilted his head, dark purple locks flopping along to the side, displaying genuine confusion. Shuichi knew better than to believe his act of innocence.

“Lying won’t work anymore. The flashback light had shown us the truth already, how you led the remnants and forced us into this mess.”

“So, that’s how the mastermind got you all to go after me, a flashback light, of course.”, Kokichi muttered more to himself than Shuichi. “What I say won’t matter then, you won’t believe me anyway”

His attention averted back to the detective, a wide smile drawn on his face, “What do you want to hear?”

Shuichi was taken off-guard. What did he want to hear? The truth, whatever that may be.

Kokichi does not wait for a reply, “That it was all a lie? I was never the mastermind. Not a friend either, only a lowly pawn created to liven up the game.” His voice lilts to a playful tone.

“I never cared if I lived or died, I served the despair and entertainment. Never felt a thing when Gonta was executed on my behalf. He was nothing but an idiot anyway, perfect to toy around with.”

“The best of it all? Gonta died knowing he failed his biggest dream of all, to be a gentleman. His own undying kindness let me manipulate him into an impossible mission, a perfect murder for the greater good. He had accepted the guilt of murder and living as the last person alive to spare all of us from misery. However, he failed to see how the outcome he longed for would never work out. Not only was he stupid enough to switch the wrong cables, but he also failed to notice that I was never going to help him-”

“Shut up.” Shuichi interrupted in a stern voice, having troubles with containing the brewing anger inside him. Kokichi was about as irritating as the sound of scratching a chalkboard.

“It was only right for someone as dumb as him to die!” uneven giggles racked his body, sounding almost painful to hear. Close to a kid trying to deliver a joke but unable to do so because he won’t stop laughing.

“Shut up!”

It wasn’t right. Gonta wasn’t an idiot, just gullible. The pure-hearted giant had done everything in his power to protect everyone even if it meant it would lead to his own suffering. Deserved? Never, Gonta never deserved to die. He was a hero to Shuichi. He could’ve never done something as selfless as what he did.

Seeing the impish grin on Kokichi’s face and hearing the joy in his broken tone drove Shuichi mad. The death of his friend wasn’t a joking matter. Unlike him, Gonta was a dignified person, and he will forever be remembered as one.

Nobody had blamed him for the murder as it had all been Kokichi’s fault.

Kokichi was about to open his mouth to add something, but Shuichi wasn’t having none of that, “Just shut the fuck up!”

Stop talking, stop smiling, stop laughing. It all made him sick.

“Woah there Shumai, no need to be so vulgar! Didn’t you want to talk? You know, when you jabbed into my wounds to make me speak?” The mock version of Kaito’s nickname for Maki’s lit Shuichi’s insides on fire. The last time he’s heard it was during the same trial.

The false affection Kokichi feigned over and over to win over his attention was repulsive. Every time he had told him he loved him was to manipulate his view on him, replace his harshness with softness. If he wasn’t so good at it, he might’ve never gotten this far.

If Kokichi weren’t so good at dressing his rotting core with flowery lies he wouldn’t be here.

“But get this, I didn’t even get to the best part yet!”

Shuichi needed him to be quiet.

“Hadn’t it been for you my plans would’ve never worked. Had you listened to Kaito during the trial, believed your own friend, Gonta would’ve never been persecuted and you would’ve never discovered the ugly truth to this mock academy. You all played right into my hand like fools.”

Be quiet!

“And it all had led up to the grand finale! The biggest joke of it all! My sworn rival had assisted me to create an unsolvable case. Die and take everyone with me. Humanity’s last survivors’ demise.”

He couldn’t hear it anymore. Shuichi isn’t sure when something in him had shattered.

Was it when Kaede died or when Kaito did?

Maybe there had always been this dark turmoil in him growing with time. It had mauled its ugly way to the forefront of his mind until it was all there was.

His nerves were run thin, he couldn’t stop himself any longer.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Was there something to blame?

Shuichi wishes he could smother the feeling of utter helplessness, squash it under the weight of undying determination. To squeeze tighter and tighter until it heaved its last horrid breaths.

But it fought toe and nail against him, straining every nerve to live. Tattered gasps emitted in an irregular staccato as it clawed at his fingers. Shuichi felt something give in under his rigid grip.

Kokichi struggled. His face was flushed red as his body writhed, his own nails creating marks on his already blemished skin.

The bruises on Kokichi’s pale neck were practically placeholders for fresh ones, the remains of Maki’s violence. Shuichi was nothing like her though. There was no trained expertise in the way he strangled Kokichi, rather just sheer fury.

Shuichi wishes it would hurt, hoped it stung the same way his heart broke to reveal the unwanted truth each trial.

It’s only when Shuichi feels wetness underneath him that he startles back into reality.

Did Kokichi just piss himself?!

Shuichi promptly releases his hold and reels away in panic. He’s almost thrown off the bed through momentum. Now that he couldn’t hear Kokichi’s desperate breathing in his ears he hears his own teetering one. Seeing a widening damp patch of white fabric confirmed his wild guess.

His mind backtracks. He couldn’t hear Kokichi’s breathing?

Horror set in as he came to the realization that Kokichi was no longer conscious. One moment he had been fighting and in the next, he had become limp. His body had altogether given up under the pressure.

Shuichi couldn’t stop himself from imagining the worst-case scenario of this; Kokichi is dead. He would not wake up. Shuichi had killed him.

Promptly, he does the only thing he could think of and begins shaking Kokichi while ushering him loudly to wake up.

Seconds feel like minutes ticking by as he does so. The unresponsiveness deepens the agonizing feeling settling in his stomach. In a violent rage, he had gone as far as to attempt murder. Inflicting pain was one thing but much worse was taking away a life because he couldn’t handle the situation.

Shuichi nearly failed to notice when Kokichi came back. He awakens with a start, disoriented and confused but very much alive. Kokichi’s struggling to live with distressed rasps, his body almost rejecting the air he drew. A cycle of agonizing coughs and harsh intakes of air to slowly regain control.

Gradually, he gets ahold of himself as Shuichi awkwardly waits beside him. There was relief for knowing he wasn’t a killer but shame for causing this accident. For the third time, Kokichi escaped certain death. One would think he might just be immortal or a cockroach, no matter how often you’d squash him under your shoe, he’d come crawling back in no time.

After a while, Kokichi regained some sort of normalcy, if a steady rough whistle could be considered normal for breathing. With depleted energy, he gave up completely and fell back onto the stained mattress.

Shuichi crinkles his nose in disgust. He’s unsure if he or Kokichi was to blame for that. The freshened angry red marks around his neck and the discoloured spot of urine quelled revulsion in him. The rollercoaster ride of panic made him feel the need to throw up.

Warily, Shuichi took Kokichi into his arms and heaved him up, discarding the purple coat in the process. Making sure not to rouse much commotion, he carries him back to where he had initially found him, his shower. There, he’s gently placed on the cool tiles.

Shuichi hopes it’ll save his sanity if he tried helping the situation a little. He would wash Kokichi and redo the bandages. Maybe then the nausea would subside.

His hands hesitantly hover over Kokichi’s belt. It feels inappropriate to strip him off his clothes without his consent but even if he asked, he wouldn’t get an answer out of him. They’re both boys anyways, it shouldn’t matter. It’s not like Shuichi’s…

Hastily, he unclasps the buckle, unzips the other’s pants and yanks it off in one go. With great effort, he tries to keep his mind blank but his face still heats up from embarrassment. Considering the many nights he’s spent at hotel Kumasutra, Shuichi shouldn’t be so flustered.

The clothes are thrown into a pile outside of the shower and Shuichi leaves the bathroom briefly to collect a fresh set. He picks out only the necessities of a spare outfit, leaving out excessive layers like his jacket. Often, Shuichi wishes for more variety and more comfort but they were left with a token costume on all days.

When he starts showering Kokichi, he pays attention not to harm the wounds any further. He undoes the bandages to get rid of the mess underneath, later, he will wrap them again. For some time, he mulls over leaving Kokichi’s greasy hair the way it was currently or washing it. He decides against washing it, too afraid of accidentally preventing him from breathing with water running down his face.

The whole ordeal was unpleasant to Shuichi. He’s on his knees in a puddle of water, one hand holding Kokichi up and the other grasping the showerhead. Touching Kokichi was alien, although much more was the warmth of his skin. He’s alive. Didn’t look like it, but he was.

Shuichi turns off the shower, pats him dry with a towel before dressing him in his own clothes. Throughout the entire process, Kokichi had been nothing but dead weight, enabling Shuichi to position every limb as he saw fit. There was barely any resistance except for occasional subtle pressure, never enough to stop him though.

When he carries Kokichi back to his bed, he’s pleasantly surprised to find that the sheets had been changed and folded neatly. He hadn’t heard a single noise back in his bathroom that could’ve signalled him that someone had been in here. Had it been the monokubs? Like their father, the four bears had the inexplicable ability to appear and disappear at will, making it possible that they had snuck into his room without him knowing.

Shuichi had always known that they were being monitored but he had never figured out to what extent. This had proven to him that even in his rooms someone would be watching. Somewhere, among the furniture would be a camera spying on him. A chill ran down his spine. He’d searched the room up and down for hours when he first arrived, there was no way he could’ve missed something like a camera. He sets Kokichi down.

Did that mean that the mastermind knew of Kokichi’s sudden appearance? It had been clear during the trial that not even Monkuma had known a single thing about the murder, not even the victim’s identity. At the end of it, Monokuma had been convinced that it was Kokichi who was dead, sentencing Kaito to death due to it. Had that been a lie? A lie to spice up the trial?

It didn’t make sense to Shuichi.

Monokuma had broken the rules he had sworn to abide by.

The game was rigged.

It’s unfair.

It’s all the more gruelling knowing that there were no limitations to this insanity. An unpredictable scenario was all this was.

Shuichi grabs the required equipment before redoing the bandages he had removed earlier. This time he does a better job, securing the gauzes with more finesse.

Feeling restless by the plague of frustrating thoughts, Shuichi decides to shower as well. Later, he joins Kokichi on the bed. It’s a bit cramped as he lies down, one side of his body threatening to roll off. His bed was wide for a single person but never alike a double bed. There would be enough for two if there wasn’t disdain dividing them, but Shuichi doesn’t want to accept that.

Despite his efforts, he could not rid the repugnance. He did not feel right under his icky skin while his heated head spun. Everything felt off, wrong, with the way his back weighed the mattress and the sheets lied on him. Even the way his tongue cramped behind the slight misalignment of his teeth. It was not him. He did not feel at home in the flesh he wore.

The void in him grows, swallowing everything that made him Shuichi.

But what even made Shuichi Saihara, Shuichi Saihara?

The polite exterior, did it match the rotting core?

He closes his eyes and counts, a fruitless attempt to get his tenses limbs to relax. There’s dark but he doesn’t meet it.

There’s also skin brushing against his arm and hoarse pants emitting besides him.

Shuichi snaps back up, cursing under his breath.

Grabbing his notebook, he settles down in the armchair at the other end of the room.

What was Shuichi not seeing? There must be something, anything in this damned school that exposes the mastermind among them. If this were truly a spaceship they were on, where were the control rooms, mechanics of this monstrosity? Was the school grounds truly everything there was to find?

At this point, he might as well tap all walls to find a hidden door like the one in the library or perhaps all floors for a secret trapdoor.

Maybe he’d need to man-up and search through the girls’ bathroom. Who knows? Maybe the secret lied behind one of the stalls, leading to a secret room or something. Or maybe a hidden closet? Wasn’t it like that in the first killing game? But what were even the chances of a repetition?

He could ask one of the girls, maybe Tsumugi, for closure. Then he would finally know for sure.

For the remainder of the night, he writes until his hands couldn’t anymore and his mind shut off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, it can get worse. thanks for reading.


End file.
